"Rosie," she replied briefly.
"What about Rosie?"
"She watches me—ever since she came. Don't you understand?"
This time he was the dullard. He felt an extra quiver of repugnance for Rosie, but said nothing, while Mary Ann briskly lit the gas, and threw some coals on the decaying fire. He was pleased she was going down; he was suffocating; he did not know what to say to her. And yet, as she was disappearing through the doorway, he had a sudden feeling things couldn't be allowed to remain an instant in this impossible position.
"Mary Ann!" he cried.
"Yessir."
She turned back—her face wore merely the expectant expression of a summoned servant. The childishness of her behaviour confused him, irritated him.
"Are you foolish?" he cried suddenly; half regretting the phrase the instant he had uttered it.
Her lip twitched.
"No, Mr. Lancelot!" she faltered.